For thousands of years, and in endless debates by learned minds throughout all fucking history, humans have tried to define what “art” is. And, I’m sure you’ll agree, these debates are one of the most annoying aspects of existence. Goddamn, it’s some irksome shit. I’d rather get crotch-kicked by some long-legged child in rain boots than engage in these conversations. Few things can sink me into that particular blend of existential dread, ennui, and despair like being surrounded by people trying to define art. It’s some seriously contentious shit. Ain’t nobody going to define the motherfucker in a single inebriated conversation. It’s now become one of those conversation topics cerebral fucks tend to whip out when they want to show off their goods. It’s the equivalent of a beefy gym nut taking out a pair of barbells during dinner and doing arm curls over your rigatoni. But at least with rigatoni arm curls, one of the top contenders won’t be some ridiculously high motherfucker ceaselessly repeating, “It’s all relative, man”. In debates about art? It happens all the fucking time.
Jörg Piringer’s is one of these types that get you thinking about what art is without making it a pissing contest. And he’s created an album that ticks off all the boxes. First off, without knowing a single thing about this album, it’s simply fucking enjoyable. It starts off with a handful of people groaning like zombies until, after a minute or so, a strange and captivating beat drops. It’s odd. It’s compelling. It’s a wonky little bitch that feels good to nod your head along to. An easy comparison to this album would be those strange and mellow tracks from Aphex Twin’s Come To Daddy period. The motherfuckers that blurred the line between electric and organic. This album is glitchy, fun, and organically strange.
But wait, there’s more!
Dude didn’t just drop sweet sounds and call it a day. There’s meaning behind these motherfuckers. Jörg made this album with a fuckton of manipulated voices, which is what gives each track its organic feel. And the album is a musical homage to the code talkers of WWII. Jörg decided to emulate the sounds of a coded language through his electronic means, like the sounds an infant makes to emulate its parents, and made music with this shit. He calls the language “Darkvoice”.
Without throwing on too much flex, when a product is enjoyable, the concept behind it is intriguing, and it seems beneficial overall, I throw it into the “art” pile. If you’ve happened to read through Kant’s cunty definition of “beauty” in that cunty Critique of Judgment of his, you’ll recognize this same basic concept. But before you go taking a huge hoot and giving me that “it’s all relative” bullshit, just know I’m not debating shit. It’s not worth it. Let the piss measuring rigatoni arm curling cerebral fucks slap fight over it. When I press play and hear some dope ass shit, I don’t need to debate what it is in any language. Because if something barks like a duck, looks like a duck, acts like a duck, shits like a duck, and smells like a duck? It’s a fucking duck.